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and he hadn’t heard a thing.
    She slipped her arms around his naked waist and ran her smooth fingers over his taut abdomen, then dragged her nails across his prominent abs.
    For a split-second, his stomach tightened.
    Beth leaned into him, resting her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. The subtle flower fragrance from her perfume drifted over him. She smelt good.
    He focused on her face. Shades of brown eye-shadow set off the blueness of her eyes and he loved her cute turned up nose. In the mirror, he watched her kiss the nape of his neck, one side of her bob of fair hair falling across the front of his shoulder.
    She caught him looking at her through the mirror and cracked a cheeky smile.
    “What are you thinking?”
    “I was just thinking to myself what a lucky person Beth Kerr is to be married to such a hunk as me.”
    “Delusional as well as a poser.” Beth said, kissing his shoulder. “I was just thinking we’ve got a good hour before we need to get ready,” she whispered.
    Hunter spun around, catching her unawares. He gripped her wrists, quickly pinning them behind her back. Then he kissed her soft mouth.
    As he led her to the bedroom, the second track was just striking up.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Barry Newstead leaned into Hunter’s ear and said in a hushed voice, “A few years ago celebrating a result was a lot different from this. Do you remember? It was a pie and a pint and a lock-in at the pub and you paid for it with a thick head the next day.”
    Hunter did remember. Surprisingly, the memories of those nights were as fresh as if they had happened only yesterday. The venue was always the pub at the bottom of the hill, not far from district headquarters, where, after midnight, a couple of the lads would get their guitars out from the boots of their cars and everyone would join in with the drunken revelry; slurred renditions of songs such as ‘Whisky Wild Rover,’ Black Velvet Band,’ and ‘Sloop John B’, would reverberate around the small lounge. In the small hours everyone would eventually stagger home with croaking voices. And just like Barry had said, the following day he would feel as if his head and guts were going to explode.
    “Yeah, good nights eh?” he said. “But things move on.”
    “Not always for the best if you ask me. I don’t know, this bloody job’s gone soft,” Barry took a long slurp of his beer, demolishing half the pint.
    Hunter glanced across at Beth who had already found a seat in the small lounge area by the foyer and was chatting away to Sue Siddons.
    The four of them were the first to arrive at the Indian restaurant. Hunter and Beth had got there by taxi. Sue had driven Barry’s car. They had arrived simultaneously and given each other a smiling welcome before entering the restaurant.
    This was the squad’s favourite curry house. They had tried several across the Borough over the past two years but had voted this the best. Not just because of its traditional decor, the low-lit intimate feel and friendly atmosphere - it was more a place for couples than an end of night venue for those who had drunk too much – but also because of its food, freshly cooked in the Bangladesh tradition. And it was quiet enough for the team to gossip among themselves, especially about work.
    “I don’t know Barry, I quite like these nights out. You get to know more about the person you work with.” He took a sip of his own pint of chilled Indian beer in a decorated glass. “Do you know why I think you don’t like these evenings Barry?” Hunter deliberately turned his head away, hiding a smile.
    “Go on, surprise me,” he replied gruffly.
    “Because you’re afraid of letting your mask slip or someone might reveal your secrets. We might find out that the ruff-tuff brusque detective is really a pussy-cat with a liking for crochet and basket-weaving.”
    Hunter saw Barry’s head whip round. He tried to avoid eye contact.
    Barry dug Hunter’s arm with his elbow.